I keep telling myself I'm not afraid to have surgery on Wednesday. After all, it's a pretty minor deal, comparatively speaking. It's not like I'm having a leg amputated or anything. Nope. Someone is just going to cut my throat while I'm sleeping and remove a piece of me that humans need to live.
All the cool kids are doing it.
Honestly, I didn't think I was having very much anxiety about the whole thing. Just as I was about to try and dislocate my shoulder so I could pat myself on the back, my Mother burst my bubble, as Mother's often do.
"You're scared, Sher," she said on the phone. "It's OK to be scared, Honey."
Silly, Mother. Scared is for kids.
"I tell you what's scary. How not scared I am... that's what's scary. I am so not scared, it's funny. Hahahahaha. Ha. Hear that, Mother? That's me laughing at the idea that you think I'm scared."
"OK, Dear. So tell me again what you've done today."
"Ummm, let's see. I cleaned the kitchen, did eight loads of laundry, then cleaned the laundry room because it was a mess. I cleaned and dusted the bedrooms, washed the sheets and comforters, washed the throw rugs, took down the curtains and washed those, gave the dog a bath and then realized he needed to be clipped, so I did that.
"While I was clipping him I realized the shower curtain needed to be washed and I figured that was a good time to clean the tub. Of course, after all that, I needed a shower, so I when I put the shower curtain back up, I hopped in. After my shower, I gave myself a facial and while it was doing it's magic, I baked a cake. Tomorrow I have to finish what I didn't get done today."
"Hello, Sher? It's Scared calling. Pick up the phone."
Nobody likes a right Mother.
Dammit anyway. There was crazy on my face all day and I didn't even know it.
So I guess I am a little scared. Not because I think I'll die or anything, although that thought has crossed my mind. We've all watched ER. Chick goes into the hospital to have a wart on her elbow removed and some medical student who has been awake 46 hours and who is distraught because the nurse he slept with a week ago is now sleeping with a grumpy, but handsome, attending, mistakenly removes her heart instead. Maybe just to be on the safe side I should write, "DO NOT REMOVE HEART" in Sharpie over my heart area.
I think I may be a tiny bit afraid because the idea of being put to sleep is not one I cherish. Sure, I've counted backwards from 100 before, but still I'm not loving the idea of it. I'm a tad bit of a control freak and without my being awake to talk the surgeon through it, how do I know he'll get it right? If I'm fast asleep, how am I going to remind him to wash his hands or not to sneeze right in my open wound?
And what about all those people on the Discovery channel who went through surgery totally awake, even though the doctors thought they were sleeping? Holy crap! Their eyes were closed and their body's were paralyzed, but they could hear and feel every single thing. What the hell is that all about?
OK, Sher. Breathe in... breathe out. Relax. Don't do it. When you want to go to it.
I gotta go. I see some dust on my crock pot.
For Willie ~ This is why I do what I do when you say "Hot Pockets".
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